September 30: Make It Rain?!

Well, tators to take a break from the beautiful disaster that is our economy, I decided to paint the family room. I am on day 2, and so want to be finished. However, I do not see the shining, white light at the end of the tunnel, because; uno) I am not dying and 2) I still have the crown molding, base boards, and the ceiling (NOTE: I am dreading this part, because I always get a nasty crick in my neck. Could this be because I am way below the height minimal requirement for painting ceilings?)

Anywho...

If you have not heard the word around the block; here is the 411; Hot-Lanta is low on petrol. I use the fancy-pants English term, because I said to my dermatologist when she asked me how my day was, and I replied, "It's good, because I have gas!" She looked at me awkwardly, and then the light bulb went off in her blond head ans she chuckled, "I thought you were telling me you had to fart; not talking about gasoline!" I must of made her day, because through the whole examine she could not stop chuckling. I bring a ray of sunshine to every one's gloomy day!

Except, a Ragein' Asian!

Read on...

Well...
I had no clue that Hot-Lanta was low on Petrol. Carl-E could not fathom this because it was on all the news channels. I told him that they must of talked about the shortage while I was speaking to heads of state, finding a cure for cancer, or scoping out my next LV! (NOTE: He defiantly did not believe the first two excuses!)

So, there I was on Friday, in a manic-panic search for petrol, because I only had, oh 6 miles left to go before I hit zilch, na-da, nothing, empty! After going to six stations, I finally found one. It was a total mad house, worse than the wedding gown sale at Feline's Basement (NOTE: If you never witnessed this in person, you need to. It's a hoot and a half!). So, the guy in front of me was talking and texting causin' a total blackberry jam (NOTE: This is my Urban Word of the Day).

I put the peddle to the metal, hauled tush, and got into the other line. Well, out of no where, well not really no where, comes this hideous purple mini-van right at my Beamer. I laid on my horn, and the driver came to a sudden stop, rolled down her window, and shouted, "I here first; you let me first!"

Let me describe the she-driver that has no taste in automobiles; Asian-descent, super short orange hair (NOTE: I could not decide if it was orange on accident or she was going for the hip new citrus look that is all the rage in Japan), about 500+60 years old, and pretty-cute looking cat eye glasses with teeny-tiny rhinestones at the temples. She continued to verbally berate me, even though I was telling her she was 100% wrongo-0 (NOTE: I was tempted to ask her where she got her glasses, but I held my tongue, because I figured I was not going to kill her with my intense kindness)! However, she was either deaf or stupid, because she continued to yell at me.

What did I do?...
I politely waved at her, smiled a huge Kool-Aid grin, and pulled up to pump my gas. She continued to inch her van of doom towards me, screaming, "I here first, you get behind me!" as if that would make me give up my spot. Hey, I only now had 4 miles until I was out of gas. In the end, I got Petrol. I always win!

So, it is now Tuesday and I still have almost a full tank of gas, I mean Petrol. I am limiting my cruisn' so I will not have anymore ugly encounters and Carl-E will not have to bail me out of the big house. Hopefully, Hot-Lanta will have fuel at every station soon, until then...

I'll leave you with this...
The best suggestion to bail us out of our money-woes:
A man suggested that all the women of the country go out on the street, start strippin' off their clothes, while the President flys over in a helicopter as he makes it rain "Big-Pimpin' W" style with hundred dollar bills (NOTE: I really wish I could take credit for that, but some guy on a radio show called in with the idea. Isn't just geniuses?!)
Oh, this would all be available via live feed on the Internet.



Off to make the world, or at least my family room a more colorful place,
ME


Blackberry Jam

A traffic jam that occurs in subway tunnels, bus stations, and any other highly occupied area. Caused by inconsiderate workaholics walking or driving too slow while their noses are glued to their Blackberry device.

I was late for work because there was a Blackberry Jam getting out of the A train.

September 24: Jersey Never Disappoints!

I returned alive from my trip to my old stompin' grounds; Jersey. I had a total blast and par-tayed like I was 21 again! But, when you spread the adult beverages over an 11 hour span, the next day is not that bad as long as you have Dunkin Doughnuts ice coffee to put a bit of pep in your ass draggin' step!

Anywho...
While waiting for my ice coffee sportin' my Gucci shades (NOTE: I put a nasty scratch on the lens, so I am now checking out a pair of Tom Ford shades that are so hot!) the dad behind me and his son had a few words. Actually, the dad had many words and the son just whimpered.

So, this is how it went down...
The son and dad were on their way to his football game and decided to get a snick snack before hand. While waiting their turn to order, the dad asked his son what he wanted to eat. To this, his son replied, "The bagel with sausage and egg." Well, I am not sure which word was the dad's trigger word, but he went total Jersey on his ass. Ya know, talking through his teeth just loud enough for the people closest to him to ease drop.

Well, he told his son that he was "Out of his f$%&in' mind" Now, I did not know that wanting a sausage and egg bagel was a sign of mental insanity. Maybe DND should not offer that breakfast choice. Next, the dad told his kid that "He pushed his f&%*in' luck and now he would get nothing." The story did have a happy ending, the kid got a doughnut. So much healthier; fried dough with sugar; nothing does a young body good!

The other incident...
I spent the night at my cousin's house. I was totally crashed out on the sleeper sofa, when I awoke to flashing lights. My first thought was, "Oh crap, someone died!" I peeked out the window to spy a flatbed tow truck. My cousin came down the stairs to join me. In front of her house was some young chicky pacing up and down. What was the flatbed tow truck doing?

Well...
It was depositing a mass that used to be a VW in my cousin's neighbor's yard. This was very odd, since when a car is obviously totaled to bring it to some one's yard instead of dropping it off at a garage. The neighbor saw my cousin and told her that his girlfriend recked her car (NOTE: Well, DUH!), and that everyone was ok. With that, we went back to bed.

And then...
Next the girlfriend's mother showed up. If Hell had a voice, it would be this woman's. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, "What are you doing here you are supposed to be in Florida at school!" OOPS! The daughter was busted! The mother continued to yell to her daughter that she found out by looking at her Face Book page (NOTE: You never post where you are going if you do not want anyone to find you, that deserves another DUH!) . The mother continued to berate her daughter on the sidewalk calling her a filthy, filthily, filthily liar over and over again.
By the 2 million fifthly liar, I was so tempted to tell the mother to take tramp daughter and go home! But, I did not want to get involved because she probably would of choked me out. So, I hunkered down until the mother dragged the daughter home.

skita
	Swift Kick In The Ass Wow, that dad in Dunkin Doughnuts was being a real tool, he deserves an nice hard SKITA.

Sept 18: The Naked Lady

There is a naked lady at the pool. Every gym/workout place has one. Actually, there are many naked ladies, but they dress themselves in a timely manor. Usually, The Naked Lady prances around with her goodies on display, takes part in long group conservations (NOTE: Sometimes with one leg propped of casually on a bench), and blow drys her hair in her birthday suit.

Now, I am comfortable with the naked body being an art connaisseur and all. But, when things are swingin' and bouncin' constantly in your line sight it is hard to divert your eyes. Sometimes I think she has a twin, because once when I turned to my right to avoid a visual collision with bits and parts The Naked Lady was right in front of my face. I quickly dropped my gaze, muttered "Excuse me, " and proceed to rub my eyes feverishly to remove the image from my rods, cones, and cornea.

On theory is that is that The Naked Lady is allergic to clothes. If any remnant of a woven fabric, whether it be sisal cloth from the Congo or the finest silk from hand raise worms from a remote mountain village in Japan her skin begins to bubble and dissolve into a thick goo. Another one is she was forced to sell her wardrobe on EBay because she needs to buy gas to get to work (NOTE: I would not doubt this one, especially the cost of gas. My shoe fund as been drastically been reduced since I had to have petrol to get Carl-E's dry cleaning and run other various earns). My last theory is that a swarm of clothes eating moths had a all-you-can-eat buffet in her closet and she cannot afford new clothes because she as to pay for her gym membership (NOTE: Being fit and health maybe a priority in her life; you never know!).

I know she is not allergic to non-Egyptian cotton, over-bleached gym towels, because she wraps her hair in it. Maybe she is afraid of catching a cold or she's embarrassed that her gray roots are showing. One day, The Naked Lady dropped her towel in front of me. The sight that I witnessed has scared me for life. Now, I suffer from night terrors and have an extreme phobia of white cotton towels.


Maybe The Naked Lady suffers from Ground Hog Day syndrome (NOTE: Ya know repeating the same day over and over again.)

Naked Day

A day when you are the only person who turns up to work (e.g. a public holiday, graveyard shift, or similar), and no one else is going to be around, so you decide that it's safe to declare the whole day clothing-optional. Can be done for reasons of heat, humidity, & comfort; or out of sheer apathy.

See ya later tators!

September 16: Put in a 911 to Emily Post ASAP!

Good morning, tators!

Well, I attended a very interesting wedding this weekend. What made it interesting?

-The 5 star chef flown in from France that prepared fresh fioe gras by magically removing the liver from the goose that laid the golden egg without out harming a feather?
NO!
- The fabu guest gifts were limited addition Hermes mini Burkin bags with hand-painted silk scarves precisely folded and lovingly placed inside
NO!
- Dinner entertainment was Pavarotti, who was manifested from the world beyond just for this joyous event
NO!

What made it interesting was the dress code; there apparently was none.

Before I get to the dressing, Let's talk about gifts...

Last Monday, Carl-E reminded me that we needed to buy a wedding present. Now, being the shopping diva that I am, you would think I was on it like white-on-rice. However, with all of the running, swimming, cat herding, climbing, and clothes washing I got just a teeny-weeny bit side tracked.

Now, we never received an official wedding invite (NOTE: The excuse was it went to the wrong address. ). Anywho...I emailed Carl-E to find out where they were registered. Carl-E email me back and said, "No where." I was like, "What the f*&%! Who does not register for gifts?" So, to make sure Carl-E heard right, because his hearing is VERY selective, I rang him up. And to my surprise, he not only repeated what he was told via email by the groom, he forwarded the email. Basically, the groom wrote, "We did not register; we just want cash." Now, what I wanted to know is how in Hades did they put that in the invite? Did they include a fluorescent green post-it note written in pencil that said in every invite that read, "No gifts; just CASH!"

Ok, let's move on...
So, since it was an evening wedding, I assumed that it was dressy (NOTE: Remember to never assume!). I wore a light weight, wool-blend, charcoal gray shift dress, and to add a touch a pizazz I paired it with chocolate brown fishnets, and chocolate brown alligator peep-toe platforms pumps (NOTE: I know that fishnets are not the "in" thing this season; it's pattern tights, but I wanted to buck the fashion system and make my own statement. Plus, patterned tights look stupid on my short legs.) And, Carl-E wore a very stylish pinstripe charcoal gray suite.

So, we enter the room were the ceremony was and my mouth hit the floor. Men had on jeans! Not dark-wash fitted jeans, but faded out, crotch draggin', ass-saggin' jeans. And to top off the style outfit untucked button-down oxfords with their nasty t-shirts showing. Now, this was not the only fashion faux pas. One gentleman had on Billabong black cargo pants, with a tucked in black t-shirt, black studded belt, and military boots. Actually, this man was one of the few that actually put some thought into matching his attire. Any color combination went, and I doubt that they were all colorblind!

Oh, and the women were no better. Low-rise, 2001 Britney-style, ass-crack showin' jeans with back fat oozing over the their belt loops and thong straps. The top? Well, low-cut cleavage revealing, belly shirts with sequences and rhinestones to add that dash of flash. Or, too short dresses that had to be constantly tugged on to cover their hoo-has! And the whole-tuggin' idea went out the door when the dancing commenced. There were more flashes than at the Oscar's red carpet, if you get my drift?!

Now, I know that dressing properly is an art, and not everyone can be me, but COME ON! IT IS A WEDDING! Take your ass-saggin' ass to Wal-Mart or better yet Target, buy a pair of khakis, tuck that shirt in, discover something called a "belt," and invest in shoe polish. It is not that difficult, son!

And for the ladies, Target now has some of the world's hippest designers creating clothes for them. Buy one dress and pair it with any shoes that are not flip flops (NOTE: Yes, they made an appearance too! Actually, on of the bridesmaids had DYABLE flip-flops to match her dress!").

Emily Post is spinnin' like crazy in grave!

Urban word of the day:

wedding cake syndrome The layers of fat you see on the back of a woman. Example: My shirt & bra are way too tight. Do I have the wedding cake syndrome?

September 9: Not as Bad As I Thought!

Good mornin', tators!

After my mini-pre-mid-life-crisis, I got to thinking...

- Ok, EVERYONE was not excited about the MTV awards. They basically sucked donkey butt. As a fellow blogger wrote, "It’s officially official: MTV is no longer relevant to the music world." So, I fell a couple of years younger than the 75 years old I was feel yesturday. Now, I am a rockin' 72!

- As far as the election, EVERYONE is waiting with baited breath for the verbal smack down to commence. No one is safe, even the Teflon Big "O" is getting thrown under the bus by house frows who are boo-hooin' because she wont have Mrs. P on her show. And you know, that those mumu waering zombies never bad-speak their false golden idole. Get your Orval microwave low fat kettle corn, Coke Zero, fuzzy blankee, and bring on the debates!

- Just because I no longer wear clothing that could possible be defined as "hoochie" does not mean that I have lost my female pizazz! The less you show, they more they want to know! (NOTE: If you use this quote, you must send me $1)

Let's move on...

I have a new LV family member! Last week, it was my 30+something birthday. Now, I was not expecting anything for my B-Day from Carl-E. Well, actually, that's a lie! I was expecting something, but I had no clue what. You might be thinking, "Why would not she expect anything for HER day?" Well, back in June when I was visiting Margerine, I made a pit stop in the LV NYC shop and purchased a fabu hat. As a good wife, I called Carl-E and asked if I could buy the hat, please, pretty, please, please! Just like any good husband that is in the middle of an important meeting and really could not be bothered with my frivouls request, he said, "YES!"

Well, Carl-E was out of town on my B-Day. He sent me an email saying that I could pick one of the following:
- A new LV
- A new pair of shoes and jeans
- A new Coach and Dooney Bag

Well, I was tempted by the shoes and jeans combo because I have had my eye on a new pair of CL booties, but I had my eye on a LV daimer tote. So, I emailed him back, "I select #1!" (NOTE: That's it with Godiva. If she thinks she is going to borrow it she is very mistaken!) That Carl-E is A-OK!

In addition...
Since I fell that I am a bit out of the loop with my Urban lingo. I have decied to stay current by reading the Urban Dictonary. And like the ever thoughtful friend, I want to help you, too! So, at the end of every post I'll include a new word or phrase. Now that's off the chain, son!

This joint is for my peeps know the hurricane 411! Holla!

	hurrication
	The temporary but much longer than expected amount of time spent away from home by New Orleans residents immediately following hurricane Katrina.

(NOTE: We have tons of people on hurrication in Hot-Lanta!)

I gotta jet!

September 8: I Guess It Had To Happen!

Ok, it finally happened. I knew that this day would come, however I thought it would be later, much later.

I am officially OLD!

Now, I am not talking number of birthdays old, I am talking mentally old.

Let me explain...
Every year I looked forward to the MTV Music Awards; this year I could care less despite of the rumored potential Britney re-play of last year's disaster (NOTE: That was a hot mess!).

Actually, I wanted to watch the talking heads to learn more about the up-and-coming election (NOTE: It is getting so juicy!) Speaking of the election, I am way too into it. I cannot get enough of it. It's like crack for the elderly; which in this case is me.

I sat down and made a list of things make me old, my beloved tators.
Here it is:
- I maybe turn on MTV once a month
- I now venture out of my casa sans make-up (NOTE: There was a time when I would not be caught dead without at least mascara)
- My nail polish no longer has to match my outfit
- I can go a few days without reading Perez Hilton
- I no longer purchase the gossip rags (NOTE: In Touch was my total fav; now it does nothing for me)
- I check my stocks DAILY!
- I am no longer lust after every Porche I see; (NOTE: I often ask myself "Am I becoming a sedan type-of-girl?")
- I enjoy talk radio way too much (NOTE: Neal Bortz is the bomb!)
- I posses an unhealthy extensive knowledge of taxes stuff
- I cannot bring myself to carry a Coach bag (NOTE: Does this just make me snobby?)
- I am starting to think that the creases that are forming around my eyes add character
- Wearing a ponytail makes me feel silly and forget about pigtails
- The only short skirts I sport are for running
- I clip coupons and get excited when I save over $1
- I do not own any padded push up bras, because I no longer wear low-cut hottie shirts!
- I do not care what people think about me (NOTE: Well, this has not really changed, but now I am more vocal about it)
- I am not up on my urban lingo, yo!

Maybe it is time for me to hang up my tiara and Louboutins and except my destany of Easy Spirts and eleastic polyester, permenant creased pants.

However, I will be carrying a fabu LV!

September 3: They Are Here!

Well, tators it is a sad day here in Hot-Lanta. They have arrived.

Who are "They?"

THE SPEEDBUMPS!

I thought they were coming, because last week I spied a City worker spraying the road where "something" should go. I almost asked him what he marking the road for and taking him out did cross my mind for a fleeting minute , but like a fat girl in total denial that the size 2 will not fit, I decided to ignore it.

Yesterday morning, at 5:15 am, I left to swim. I drove up my smooth street. At 7:30 am on my return home, I drove down my smooth street. At 9 am, I drove down my smooth street to the gym. At 10:30 am; BAM! BAM! BAM! Within an hour and an half, my smooth as a baby's butt street turned as bumpy as a pre-pubescent teenager's face. As soon as I hit the first one, a tear swelled up in my eye; my battle was over and I lost.

All my hopes and dreams that the City's non-existent budget would post-pone the bumps were crushed like when an ugly girl finally realizes after three hours of nervously waiting on her living room crushed-velvet lime green couch, wearing a thrift store dress (NOTE: Not the chic vintage thrift store dress, but the faded pink, multi-ruffle teared organza 1975 bride's maid nightmare) that the hot football player that suddenly took interest in her and asked her to the prom is not showing, because he is having a good chuckle with his friends while pounding beers in the bathroom at the prom at her expense.

Well, after I pouted in my house for a couple of minutes, I decided that I did not have to except these bumps. I could have my own private protest. As I left my house to buy paint to paint my office and I hit every bump with all my might. I was not going to let them slow me down! And if my car's suspension has to suffer a bit, that is a sacrifice that I am willing to make!

On my return from buying paint, I floored it to hit the bump. As I made contact with the first bump at 35 miles an hour, I saw my Buckhead Betty neighbor walking her eggs home from school. As she watched in horror as I hit the bump, she began to shout while wavingher arms frantically, "Slow Down!"

What did I do...

I smiled and waved back!

And I am off to hit more bumps!